Flying Free
by Lori0211
Summary: When Katniss and Peeta go to District 4 to visit Finnick, it seems that the pieces of their life are finally falling back into place. However, this newfound calamity is once again threatened when Plutarch announces the coming of the 76th Hunger Games. Held with Capitol children, the revenge she wanted. Or is it truly revenge? The odds have never been in her favor.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! So this is one of the two stories I mentioned in Alaskan Rose, which I promised would be uploaded once AR is finished. I know it's not finished yet, but I just couldn't resist! I have to say, I'm really enjoying writing this so far. I hope you guys will like it, too! Also, I WILL say in advance that I've made a few changes to the original story (Mockingjay.) First off, Finnick is NOT DEAD. He survived the rebellion, and moved back to District 4 with Annie. I can't even explain my love for Finnick, so please understand. Secondly, I took away the kids. ( Peeta and Katniss's girl and boy, and Finnick and Annie's son.) I _might_ add the kids back to my story at some point, but in my opinion it was kind of too soon for them. I'd like to explore the various relationships and feelings they have for each other a lot better before moving on to kids. For instance, I love the Katniss-Finnick friendship. Also, we definitely did NOT get enough of Annie in Mockingjay. And what about Johanna? Underrated for sure. So, yeah. Apart from that, it's basically post-Mockingjay. Enjoy and tell me whether you'd like to read more in the reviews!**

 **Disclaimer: Yep, as we all know, The Hunger Games belongs to the amazing Suzanne Collins, not me.**

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 _I stand alone in the meadow. Somewhere deep inside my mind, a memory stirs. One of clear, blue, skies, and rolling clouds. One of a spring colored grassland, splattered with flowers and dandelions. Most of all, one of a single child, a little girl with swinging braids and baby blue eyes. I can hear her laughing, see her dancing through grass and flowers. I want to call out to her so badly, ache to pull her into my trembling arms. But no matter how hard I try, no sound escapes from my lips. My feet are glued to the spot, binding me to the nightmares and shadows haunting me constantly. Holding me back from the one I love, from joining her in her freedom and happiness._

 _I can only watch as she prances farther away, each step taking away a piece of my shattered heart. At the last moment, she turns back, with a beautiful smile and a little wave. "Katniss," she calls, her voice ringing strong yet sweet. Then she disappears into the horizon where grass meets sky._

 _"Prim," I think numbly, before my knees buckle and my vision goes black._

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When I regain consciousness, my head feels drowsy and everything seems too bright. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight in my room, and a few more for my brain to register my surroundings. The familiar furniture, the old clutters of things here and there. Only then do I see Peeta, sitting in the armchair near my bed. He hasn't noticed my waking up yet. Instead, he's gazing out the window, looking somewhat lost in thought.

I can't help but watch him. The way the sunlight bounces off his blonde waves, turning them golden-white. The way his eyes look bright and lucid, much like the eyes of someone healthy and strong, and not the clouded, dull eyes I remember from our time in District 13.

I hesitate. "Peeta," I say quietly, my voice coming out dry and cracked. He turns around almost immediately, breaking out into a smile. A warm, genuine smile which sends a shock through my body. I can't believe how good it feels to see that smile, just how much I've missed this Peeta.

"Hey," he says softly. A pause. "I've missed you, Katniss." Almost as though he'd read my thoughts. "You've been out for a day."

A day? It feels nothing like a day. In fact, I think I lost track of time altogether a while ago. I just stopped caring about date and time. Let the minutes drag on, weaving themselves into days, weeks, months. I think I could live the rest of my life this way, simply letting season after season, year after year, slip away without notice. None of it mattered anymore, anyhow. But for Peeta's sake, I attempt a light-hearted laugh which turns into a raspy croak. "Sounds like I've been getting some overdue beauty sleep," I joke lamely. He just smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"I went looking for you," he says. "You were passed out in the Meadow. So I took you home and I've been here since yesterday." For a moment, he looks unsure of himself, and I remember that he's not the old Peeta anymore, he was hijacked and is still recovering. Except he'll never make a full recovery. My Peeta, the boy with the bread and kindness, the boy who I'd tried to save and failed, is gone. Because of me. At this point, I suddenly feel like doing something stupid like cry.

Instead, I sit up abruptly and throw my covers off. "Let's have breakfast," I suggest, as cheerily as I can. "I'm starving." I sound monotone and fake, but I couldn't care less. At least anything is better than someone who's been basically wasting away for what, nearly a month now?

If he has his doubts about my sudden change in attitude, he doesn't show it. He just nods and stands up, stretching his arms. "Take your time freshening up or whatever," he tells me earnestly. "I'll wait for you downstairs, with some cheese buns I made this morning." Another pause. "They're your favorite, right?" When I nod, too choked up to say anything, he visibly relaxes. "Aha. That's what they told me," he mutters to himself, while walking towards the stairs.

I have to swallow hard to fight back the stinging tears which came from nowhere. A nagging voice in the back of my mind rises up sickeningly.. You did this to him, it whispers accusingly. They tortured him because of you. Because you failed your promise, to save him and keep him alive and well. He would probably be better off dead right now. I clamp my hands over my ears and start rocking back and forth in a hunched position.

Finally, I bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, and whatever little food I had in my stomach makes its reappearance in the toilet. Gripping the cold marble edges of the seat, I sink onto my knees weakly. Even with the food gone, I still feel nauseous and dizzy. Just as I think I'm going to lose it again, an old memory surfaces. Dr. Aurelius, I think. His voice, calm and soothing, reminding me to breathe, slowly, count to seven. Inhale, exhale.

After trying this a couple of times, the nausea gradually begins to fade, to my immense relief. I'm even able to stand up, flush the toilet, and rinse my mouth. But I decide it's not enough. I go back into my room to grab some clean clothes without really bothering to look at what I've picked.

In the bathroom, I strip away the layers of sweaty and sticky clothes, and get in the tub with hot water turned on full blast. As I scrub myself with generous amounts of sweet smelling bubbles, I try to wash away everything which's happened since the Quarter Quell. For the first time, I face everything I've been running away from. The deaths of friends and strangers. People who have suffered at the expense of the rebellion, me, the Mockingjay. Darius, Lavinia, Boggs, Jackson, Pollux, Cressida, Mesalla... The list goes on forever.

In my mind, I apologize to every one of them. I let myself cry. For them. For me. I say my final goodbyes silently.

At last, there's just Prim left. My little duck who grew up too soon. _I'm sorry, I think, my chest tightening painfully. I'll see you_ _again someday_ , I _promise_ , _but not_ _now_. _I'm going to live again. For you, for Dad,_ _for everyone_ _who_ _died_ _for me_. My heart feels like it's breaking into a million pieces all over again, and the very fragments I've been trying to hold together for the past month are finally falling apart. But at the same time, I feel more complete than I have in a long time. The bubbles are gone now, and my skin is pink and tingling. I think I'm finally clean.

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 **Well, what did y'all think of that? Please leave a review, I'd LOVE to hear from every single one of you. *The next chapter will probably be posted tomorrow or the day after that, depending on the response I get.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm kinda disappointed with the reaction I got from chapter 1, no reviews at all, but oh well. I'm not giving up on this story just yet. If you guys stick around and read on, you might like my story. I'm working really hard on it. So, yeah. I also know my chapters tend to be somewhat on the shorter side, but I'm working on that as well. Without further ado, here's chapter 2! Enjoy and know that I'd really appreciate your reviews, so feel absolutely free to tell me what you think of my story. Like it or hate it?**

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Peeta and I have breakfast in silence, but not an uncomfortable one. We fill our mouths with cheese buns and swigs of mint tea, instead of meaningless words end empty conversation. I'm grateful that he understands me this way, and that he doesn't try to push me to open up and talk. In fact, he's giving me space, letting me heal at my own pace. Slowly, but I think I'm making progress.

The buns are warm and slightly crisp at the edges, just the way I like them. After my episode in the bathroom, I realize just how hungry I really am. We eat and soak in the silence, a peaceful one. Buttercup, the scrawny old thing, has wrapped itself around one of the table legs near my feet. He stares at me with those unblinking yellow eyes while I toss him bits of my bun. I still wouldn't say we're best friends, exactly, but I have to admit there's something comforting about having him in the house.

After a while, Peeta finally breaks the silence. "I'm going to check on Haymitch later," he says matter-of-factly. "Do you want to come with me, Katniss?" There's that tone of uncertainty again, like he's not sure how I'll react to this.

"Yeah, sure," I hear myself saying. I'm surprised to find I do want to go with him. I've seen Haymitch a couple of times in the past few weeks, mainly at Ripper's, buying his drinks. I'd gone for a drink myself, hoping to find some sort of solitude in the alcohol, only to dump every last bottle once the effects turned to major hangovers and repetitive puking. I have no doubts that Haymitch is probably still asleep, somewhere in the muted dreamland of beer and liquor.

As it turns out, I'm right. The instant we open the front door, an overwhelming tide of stale fumes hit us, so hard that I start to gag and Peeta holds his nose in disgust. I'm seriously reconsidering the wiseness of my decision to come here, especially right after breakfast. Since I'm already here, though, I force myself to go in after Peeta. We open the windows as wide as possible and take turns sucking in fresh air.

"Haymitch!" Peeta calls loudly. I think it's fair to say we're equally surprised when a half-sober Haymitch staggers into the dining room a few seconds later, bottle in hand.

"Whassup, sweetheart?" he slurs, leaning against the doorframe casually while taking a long swig. "Decided to come out of your shell?" I decide to let this comment pass, although I'm annoyed.

"Yeah, pretty much," I say, trying to keep my voice level. "We came to check on you." He laughs. "I'm honored," he mutters, giving me a mock bow. "The Mockingjay has flown to my house to check on me." For some reason, he seems to find this hilarious, and he doubles over with snorting laughter. He's starting to get on my nerves, but thankfully, Peeta comes to the rescue before I can say something I'll probably regret.

"This doesn't look too bad,' he says lightly, looking around the house. "Apart from the smell, obviously, everything actually looks decently tidy."

I realize he's right. The cushions on the sofa are neatly arranged, the furniture is dust-free, and there's even a vase of sunflowers on the coffee table. I can't believe it. A half-sober Haymitch, a clean house, _and_ flowers? Then it hits me.

"It's Hazelle, isn't it?" I say. "She's still doing your housework?" Haymitch grins. "You catch on fast, sweetheart. I told her it wasn't necessary, I wouldn't mind chipping in some cash for the kids." He shrugs. "Wouldn't listen, though."

Of course. Gale's family was just like that. I'd tried doing the same thing multiple times before, but I knew she'd never accept anything without some sort of payment in return, even though I had way more money than I'd ever need _. Gale_ , I think with a pang.

I haven't seen or heard from him since…well, since I basically told him we couldn't be friends anymore. Do I miss him? Sometimes I think I do, but then I get confused and I don't even know how I feel about him anymore. Years and years of friendship, a pact for survival which grew into something a lot deeper, then somehow turned dark and twisted. Part of me wants to forgive him, longs to go hunting with him just like we used to, but I have to face the fact that no matter how hard we try, there's nothing which can reverse what happened between us.

Haymitch seems to understand what's going through my head, and his eyes soften just a little. Before I can say anything else, though, he clears his throat gruffly. "Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. Finnick called for you a while ago."

"Finnick?" I say, surprised and suddenly somewhat hopeful. We hadn't really been in touch after I'd gone back to Twelve and he to Four with Annie. I actually missed him, though. He was one of the few people left with whom I could trust and spend time with without feeling either guilty or awkward. Furthermore, we could understand each other, our pain and nightmares. I remember how he'd helped me through the time when Peeta was in the Capitol. Going through a Quarter Quell and a full-scale rebellion brings people together like that. I wondered what he'd been doing with Annie since they went back to District Four.

"What did he say?" I ask curiously. "Why didn't he just call me?" Haymitch looks uncomfortable. "He, uh, he assumed you might not want to talk to anyone for a while. Told me to pass on the message when you were ready." He gives me Finnick's number, and Peeta tries to remind him not to overdose on the liquor, before he waves us away.

"What do you suppose Finnick wants?" Peeta asks as we walk back to my house. It's just two houses away from Haymitch's, and three from Peeta's, so I guess that's one of the upsides of living in the Victors' Village. We practically live together now. "No idea," I answer truthfully. "I hope it's good news, though. I don't think I'll be able to stand it if he tells me he broke up with Annie or something." Peeta laughs.

Once we're settled back in my house, I dial the number Haymitch gave me while Peeta sits across from me on the sofa, looking expectant. After a few rings, he picks up, and I hear a groggy,"Hello?"

He must have just woken up or something.

I suddenly feel a ridiculous urge to laugh as an image of Finnick in pajamas, with his hair sticking up, pops into my mind. "Hey," I say, covering my mouth to stifle the laughter. "It's Katniss. Haymitch passed on the message." I hear some rustling, then,"Hello, girl on fire! Finnick O'dair here, live and on the line. Miss me?" He's dropped his voice to that seductive "Finnick" tone he used when we first met. I roll my eyes.

"Maybe. Don't let it get to your head, though, O'dair." He laughs with his normal voice while I chuckle.

"So," he says slowly. "Seeing as I know you really miss being in my company, and Peeta probably does, too," I glance at Peeta at this point, feeling amused as he gives me a questioning look. "Annie and I are inviting you two to come over to Four. You could stay for a few weeks, we have plenty of spare rooms."

Go to Four? "Your mom knows," he adds, as though he'd read my mind. "She misses you a lot."

My mom wants to see me? I think she might have written me a few letters since she'd gone to Four, but I'd either scanned them or thrown them away. That's what I'd done with the entire pile of letters which had been sitting on my mantelpiece only yesterday. I wasn't really in the mood for reading anything at the moment.

"Hang on," I tell him, covering the mouthpiece with my hand. "Finnick is inviting us to visit him and Annie," I say to Peeta. "To stay at his house for a few weeks." Peeta looks a bit surprised, but not upset or anything. He takes a deep breath. "Sure, why not?"

I'm not sure what I was expecting him to say, exactly, but I guess I was a bit surprised myself. "Okay," I say, uncovering the mouthpiece. "We'll be there." "Great," he declares. "As much I'd love to continue chatting, though, my stomach is calling for breakfast, and so is my Annie. I'll see you two!"

"Wait," I say suddenly. "You never told me when, and how we're going to get to your place!" I hear him slap his palm on his forehead. "Sorry," he laughs. Typical Finnick. We hang up after he gives me his address and instructs me to ring Effie to arrange for a train to come pick us up in a week.

I feel somewhat excited, and maybe apprehensive as well. I remember District Four vaguely from our Victory Tour, as one of the biggest districts, with a sparkling ocean and amazing seafood. I'm thinking maybe this trip is just what I need to take a further step into recovery. Get out of Twelve for a while, spend some time with Finnick and get to know Annie better. Maybe spend some time with my mother. A new experience. An escape, if only temporary, from all the things and people which are haunting me in my hometown. Things could change.

I look up at Peeta, meet his eyes, and find he's smiling, too.

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 **The story is only beginning, guys. Things will start getting interesting very soon. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, guys. I hope you'll continue reading and give this story a review or follow if you like it! Anyways, although I'm feeling kinda discouraged by the lack of response I've gotten, I'm still doing my best to make my chapters good. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own THG in any way.**

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The days leading up to our trip go by in a blur. Peeta hunts, I bake. Simple as that. In the mornings, I get up early and head off into the woods. It's not quite the same without Gale, but I think I've found a new rhythm, a serenity of my own. I breathe in the woodsy air and tred silently over fallen leaves and mossy rocks.

Sometimes I think I see Gale. Catch a glimpse of dark hair, or a flash of a black leather jacket. But no. It always turns out to be a squirrel or some other animal passing by. I learn that Peeta spends his mornings baking. He bakes anything and everything, from delicately frosted cookies to loaves of hearty garlic bread. And of course, cheese buns. I can never seem to get enough of those.

He fills my kitchen with the buttery aroma of fresh baked goods. It actually sort of improves my mood whenever I walk in. For lunch, we have whatever he's baked in the morning, usually with a cup of mint or chamomile tea. Talk about unimportant things and laugh a little. Other days, we are silent. We are both healing.

In the afternoons, he paints while I either watch him or take a nap. Watching Peeta paint is mesmerizing. When he paints, his eyebrows furrow slightly in concentration. His paintbrush seems to move as an extension of his fingers. They stroke the white canvas, dab, and stroke streaks of color here and there. He looks relaxed, happy, even. It's during these afternoons that I can almost believe he was never a part of the Games. That he's still the boy with the bread, the kind, sweet baker who'd never been touched by the Capitol.

And he paints everything. The arena, Buttercup, my father's hunting jacket, even me. It takes him a long time to convince me, but eventually I agree to model for him, though somewhat reluctantly. I sit on a comfortable oak chair facing him while he paints. It takes him days. Of course, I'm itching to see the painting, but he makes me wait until he's finished. A surprise, he says. The truth is, none of the surprises I've had in the past were particularly pleasant. Such as having my sister reaped, then taking place in the Games myself. Losing friends and family. But I don't tell him this.

For dinner, he makes stew, casserole, or whatever else he can create with the game I catch every day. The meals are insanely good, and my appetite starts coming back in a matter of days. As a result, I start to fatten up. Day by day, my ribs show a little less, and my cheeks even turn a rosy pink. When I look in the mirror, the scars are still there, as they always will be, but I no longer look pale, skinny, and half-dead.

Peeta starts looking healthier, too, I notice. He seems to get a little leaner, even buff. And at night, we sleep together. Him with his arms around me, just like those nights on the train. This is probably our most intimate time. It's nothing sexual or romantic, but it feels good all the same. When I wake up screaming and drenched in sweat from a nightmare, he'll whisper soothing words and stroke my hair until I calm down.

Then we get up and go to the kitchen for a mug of hot chocolate or warm milk. I tell him about the details of my nightmare, and he listens. He lets me rant and rage and babble. Once I'm done, I always feel better. Like somehow the visions have been poured out of me and into the open.

And when Peeta wakes me up with wide eyes and a frantic expression, I put my arms around him and trace patterns on his chest. We've promised each other to stop hiding. Hiding from nightmares, feelings, and each other. We do our best to be there for the other, instead of pushing away our worst fears and deepest memories. We still need a lot more practice, but we're getting there.

Finally, on the weekend before we set off, we start packing. Neither of us wants to bring too much stuff, so we just pack the basics, some summer clothes and toiletries. The weather in Twelve is actually still mostly chilly, since it's the beginning of July, but apparently it's full heat in Four already. I debate for a while over whether or not to bring my bow and arrow, and decide against it in the end. I don't think they have many, if any, forests in Four.

I've even arranged for Greasy Sae to take in Buttercup while we're away, although I doubt he'll stay in the house. Peeta calls Effie and a train is immediately booked to pick us up on Sunday night. One of the perks of being a victor, I guess. By the time we arrive in Four, it'll be Monday morning.

We're both tired, but excited, and at last, we board the train on Sunday night.

There are no passengers apart from the two of us, which gives us the freedom to roam and explore the train as much as we like. So we wander through lavish dining cars and entertainment rooms, pausing by the kitchen to order some midnight snacks. The waitor brings us a plate stacked high with colorful round cookies and small pastry puffs. We eat while lounging comfortably on velvet seats and watch a movie together.

The whole thing is so relaxing and nice that I think I can almost understand why some Careers would willingly go into the Games just for this kind of lifestyle. Almost, but not quite.

By the time we're settled in bed, I'm exhausted and fall asleep practically right away. And for once, I sleep without nightmares.

* * *

I wake up to sunlight streaming in from the window, and find Peeta is up already. He's sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, doodling absentmindedly on a sketchpad, dressed in a checkered orange shirt and a pair of jeans. "Morning," he says lightly, giving me a smile.

"Morning," I answer, rubbing my eyes. "Are we there yet?" He grins. "See for yourself." He gestures towards the window. I drag myself out of bed and peer at the glass, letting out a small gasp. We're definitely in District Four. At the moment, we're speeding past a blur of blue sky and rocky shore. I can see the ocean below us, an enormous strip of foaming azure. It's beautiful.

On our Victory Tour, I don't really remember enjoying this view. All I could think about was the fact that the tributes from the mourning families were dead because I was alive. Nothing else made much of an impression in my mind. But now, under complete different circumstances, I find myself more than taken by the stunning landscape.

"You should paint this," I blurt to Peeta. He's quiet for a moment, studying the view. "Yeah, I think I will," he agrees. "You can be the first one to see it." He adds after a moment. "I'm honored," I tell him. Things seem to be going well enough between us, and not for the first time in the past week, I feel a sliver of hope, that maybe we can recover enough to really grow back together. Give our star-crossed love a fresh start, maybe. I'd always wondered what it would be like to fall in love the natural way, without the Games and the complications. Would we still have fallen in love, or would we have married different people and eventually grown old separately?

I can never think of an answer to that question. Instead, I go to the bathroom to take a quick shower and change into a clean outfit. I do my hair in the usual braid down my back, feeling wide awake and hungry now.

Breakfast is amazing, of course. I order a stack of waffles topped with whipped cream and fresh strawberries. It even comes with about three different types of honey. Peeta has a mushroom omelet with some tomatoes and bacon on the side. Then there's orange juice, hot chocolate, milk, coffee, and a dozen types of tea to choose from. We stuff ourselves until we can't hold another bite.

About an hour later, the train starts to slow down, pulling into what must be the District Four station. We already have our bags gathered by then, and thank the dark-haired Avox who helps us carry our luggage to the platform, before stepping off the train.

It feels good to be on solid ground again. I breathe in the salty air, savor the feeling of the refreshing breeze on my face. We search the crowd around us for a few minutes, looking for Finnick and Annie. We're a little early.

Peeta spots them first. "There they are," he says, sounding relieved as he waves. The next thing I know, I'm hugging Finnick and Peeta is shaking Annie's hand. Finnick steps back to wink at me. "Katniss," he greets, using his seductive tone. "I've missed you oh so terribly." I roll my eyes. "Finnick," I say, batting my eyelashes. We laugh while Finnick bumps Peeta's fist and I finally get to hug Annie. It's a bit awkward, but she doesn't seem to mind. She gives me a smile. "Hey," she says quietly. I like Annie. I'd gotten to know her a little before her wedding, but I realize I still don't know much about her.

She has long, wavy, dark brown hair and bright green eyes not unlike Finnick's, just perhaps a shade paler. She's slim with a light complexion. She's beautiful in a natural way, and it's evident to tell she's the type of person you can trust, the kind who can easily make you feel relaxed in her presence. Personalitywise, she's as different from Finnick as two people can get. But I can see why they love each other. It's in their eyes. Both of them have this sparkle whenever they look at the other. I can tell they're genuinely happy, and that thought makes me think of Peeta somehow.

"Glad to see you, Annie," I tell her honestly. She smiles shyly. Finnick and Peeta are apparently engaged in a discussion about some kind of bread which is currently trending in District Four. This should be a pretty damn good stay.

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 **Did you guys like this chapter? You know what, leave me a review with your honest opinion, and I'll check out YOUR stories and review! I'm not forcing you to review whatsover, I just really want to know if y'all actually enjoy this or not. If I get a few reviews, I'll update again tomorrow :) Have a good day!**


	4. Chapter 4

**And here's chapter 4! Enjoy and let me know what you think in the reviews!**

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Since it turns out that Finnick and Annie's place is only a ten minute walk away from the station, we end up going on a simple tour of the nearby harbor. Finnick walks a few steps in front of us, often stopping to point out various vendors and encouraging us to stop for a look.

It's like a bazar. The sides of the streets are lined with stalls and tents offering anything from crystal earrings to silk scarves. We're recognized several times by curious people passing by. One little boy comes right up to us, wide-eyed, asking solemnly if we'll shake hands with him. We do.

"Is it always like this?" I ask. "I mean, having people gaping at you the whole time you're in public." Finnick snorts. "No. I know most of them pretty well. They're more like family to us anyways." Annie nods in agreement.

"That was Troye," she adds, a little shyly. Finnick grins at Annie and gives her hand a visible squeeze, leaning in to murmur something undoubtedly sweet. She blushes a bright red, only confirming my guess. Peeta shoots me a half-amused look. They're wrapped around each other now, only inches apart. Peeta and I may as well be part of the scenery. I clear my throat.

"Hate to break you two up, but say we move on?" I suggest, as subtly as I can. It's like that for the rest of the afternoon. Finnick never once lets go of Annie's hand, and they'll whisper to each other now and then, their faces plastered with these huge, sappy smiles. And even though it's completely irrational, I can't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy, not unlike the feeling I'd had when I watched them being reunited at the hospital in 13. I could never be jealous for either of them, it's the way they love. So whole-heartedly, without an inkling of doubt. Undiluted love.

"I'd think we were being neglected if I didn't know any better," Peeta says jokingly, flashing me a smile. Finnick laughs. "I love both of you, too," he declares. "Very, very, much. How about a group hug?" He bats his eyes at Peeta.

Annie and I try to hold back our laughter while Peeta wrinkles his nose. "No offense, Finnick, but no, not really." Finnick pretends to look hurt while Annie and I laugh our heads off. I honestly can't remember the last time I had so much fun.

District Four is truly beautiful. I want to go to the beach, but Finnick insists we go tomorrow, early in the morning. Instead, he takes us to the edge of the harbor, where we sit on the wooden dock, legs dangling, as we watch the sun slowly sink into the ocean. There's a peacefulness in the air which wraps itself around you and swallows you whole. And all of a sudden, I remember an afternoon two years ago. The one right before the Quarter Quell, when Peeta and I spent the entire day on the roof, just relaxing and enjoying luxurious Capitol food. He'd said, "I wish I could freeze this moment, right here, right now, and live in it forever." I think I finally understand what he meant.

There's another surprise for us when we finally leave the harbor and head to Finnick and Annie's house. Their house is a rather large two story, white with a front porch and a swing chair. Sitting on the swing chair, looking extremely bored, is none other than Johanna. **Johanna**.

I raise my eyebrows at Finnick. He shrugs. "I thought it'd be a nice surprise for both of you," he says, looking a little guilty. Both of you. So that means that up until this moment, Johanna had no idea Peeta and I were coming, either. Just as I reach this conclusion, she's there with her arms crossed, peering at my face with a look of slight disapproval. Definitely not a friendly reunion.

"What?" I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. We may have become allies of a sort in 13, but we're still not exactly best friends. To her credit, though, she doesn't jump on me and try to strangle me. Instead, she just rolls her eyes. "I wasn't expecting to see you, Brainless," she shoots back. Finnick looks relieved. "I knew you two would work it out," he says cheerfully.

We both glare at him. "Maybe for the moment," Johanna says sweetly. "But you haven't heard the end of this, Odair. You owe me one." Before Finnick can say anything, Peeta intervenes quickly. "Good to see you, Johanna," he says with a smile. Leave it to Peeta to always be good-tempered and polite. Johanna sighs. "Yes, hello to you, too, Lover Boy." There's less acid in her voice this time.

Apparently, as Annie tells me later, Johanna hasn't been doing too well since she went back to 7. Tried to kill herself by overdosing on pills several times, landing in the hospital. Being friends, Finnick wanted to invite her over to stay for a while, hopefully talk some sense into her.

I'm shocked. Johanna Mason? The Johanna I know is strong and arrogant, snarky with an attitude. But then I think back to the Johanna in 13, the one with wide eyes and pale cheeks. That was the vulnerable her, the one the Capitol had stripped her down to. And I immediately feel bad, but I know at the same time that she'd hate my pity.

Annie and I are on the second floor, standing on the balcony which overlooks the ocean. The others are somewhere on the first floor below. I had never really been one for socializing at school, and even now I'm still not sure how to act around others. In the Games, it was different. We were just a group of people forced together by the need to survive. Stripped of that, I'm left unsure of my relationship with these people.

Friends?Allies? I can't forget, no matter how hard I try, that I was prepared to kill all of them just months ago. For Peeta, yes. But friends don't kill one another. This is too confusing to think about, so I decide to just stick with Annie as much as I can, when I'm not with Peeta. I like how we can spend time together without saying anything at all, yet still not feel awkward.

"How'd you meet Finnick, Annie?" I ask suddenly. She looks a little surprised. "You're wondering how someone like him could ever fall in love with a girl like me, right?" she says softly, but not bitterly. I open my mouth to protest, but she waves her hand dismissively. "I'm not offended, Katniss." She assures me.

Her eyes take on a distant look. "I used to go to the beach every day," she begins. "There was this special place by the rocks. I'd go there at dawn, when the sky was still kind of dark. I'd lie down and watch the stars fade. One day, a few weeks after his Games, I think, I found him at my spot. He was knotting his rope. Just knotting and unknotting." She pauses to take a deep breath.

"I watched him until the sun came up. That's when he finally noticed me. He came over and asked me to sit with him. So we sat there the whole day. He told me about his little sister. About how he hated the way the Capitol people lusted for him. He just talked on and on, like we'd known each other forever." I had no idea Finnick had a little sister. I don't remember anyone from his family actually, come to think of it. That's odd. Usually a victor's family is interviewed at the top eight, right? And then there's the Victory Tour. I rack my brain for a scrap of some kind of memory, but there's none.

Annie's voice jars me out of my thoughts. " He was so different from what I saw on TV. After that, we just met there every day. Sometimes I'd listen to him rant. Other times, he'd hold me while I cried. He's everything I could ever ask for. And somehow, though I still don't know why, he eventually loved me back, I guess." There's a genuine smile on her face.

"I know why," I say gently. I really do. "You're not mad, Annie. "You're lovely."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, I'm finally back with a new chapter! I'm really sorry for the delay, hope you guys can understand. Unfortunately, my mom has restricted Internet access, meaning from now on I only have Internet until 8pm.( Except Saturdays, when I have Internet until 9pm. ) It's super annoying, but I'll just have to deal with it :( On the bright side, I'm still going to update once a week, don't worry. And this chapter is extra long to make up for the wait!**

 **A special mention goes to the amazing Katie ( Juliet's Shadow! ) She's super nice and very talented, so y'all ought to check her out. ( I personally recommend Graceland, since I absolutely fell in love with the story. ) Plus, she's not only given me a lot of support on my writing, reviewing all of my chapters, but also been plain awesome talking to me through PM. Go read some of her stories and show her some love!**

 **Lastly, I hope you guys like this chapter. Enjoy and review!**

 **P.S. Katie, check your inbox! I sent you a message ages agoooo .**

 **P.P.S. cayt326: I'm really glad you're enjoying the story so far! Thank you heaps for your review x**

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At somewhere around seven, when Peeta and I are mostly done with unpacking, we're called downstairs to have dinner. Instead of eating in the dining room, though, Finnick waves us out onto the veranda.

There's a table set with steaming plates and glasses of fizzy ocean blue liquid I've never seen before. Upon closer inspection, the food turns out to be slices of some kind of pink fish I vaguely remember as _salmon_. The fish is laid upon a bed of rice, which is drenched in a creamy white sauce and sprinkled with rosemary.

The smell is so fragrant my mouth starts to water. Johanna actually lets out a little moan as we sit down. "God, you made this?" she asks Finnick, her expression a mixture of disbelief and teasing. "Don't look so surprised," he says, smirking. "But no, as much as I'd like to claim credit, I didn't make this. I couldn't cook anything like this if my life depended on it." Johanna chuckles, and I raise my eyebrows. There's some news about Finnick.

Peeta is studying his plate intently. "I'd like to try making this," he says suddenly. "Maybe I could teach you, Finnick. You, too, Annie, if you'd like." He looks up expectantly. "Why not?" Finnick says eagerly. "You can teach all of us tomorrow morning. We'll go to the beach in the afternoon." And just like that, it's decided, despite Johanna and my vehement protests.

Dinner is delicious. The fish is tender and melts in my mouth almost immediately. Finnick keeps the conversation going with his ridiculous stories, so the rest of us mostly just listen, occasionally dropping a comment. The cool breeze is a welcome companion, keeping us comfortable but not cold.

When the evening finally ends, my spirits are reasonably high. I think it might partially be the blue drink messing with my head, though, since I have a warm feeling in my stomach and an unusual light-headed giddiness. The drink must have alcohol in it. I look around at the others. Peeta's cheeks are flushed red, and he has a pleased look on his face. Finnick's eyes are sparkling in the remaining light of dusk. Annie has on a dreamy smile, and even Johanna looks relaxed and at ease.

Then, because Annie is laughing at something Finnick said, with windblown hair falling in her face and dimpled rosy cheeks, I go ahead and decide whatever the feeling is, this must be happiness.

* * *

"That looks good, Annie," Peeta says encouragingly. "Maybe just a few more minutes in the oven." I shove a stray lock of hair out of my face, trying not to let my frustration show. It's must be at least eighty degrees in the kitchen, and we've been stuck here all morning, helping Peeta make lunch. He assigns me with simple tasks like slicing the fish, but I manage to ruin even that by ending up with uneven slices and several pieces on the floor. Back in Twelve, when I cooked for Prim and my mother, no one cared if the food looked good or not. Having food on the table was a miracle in itself.

Annie is the only one doing a decent job. Finnick and Johanna had no more luck than I did. Finnick waits patiently, keeping us entertained with awful jokes, but Johanna has a murderous glint in her eyes. If looks could kill, Peeta would be dead by now. I fight a strange urge to laugh.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, lunch is served, courtesy of Peeta and Annie's joined efforts. We dig in hungrily, shoveling food in our mouths in a manner Effie would certainly disapprove of. No one could care less.

Johanna is the first to stand up. "Let's go," she declares. "I've had enough of the kitchen for a lifetime. I'm ready to dive into that gorgeous ocean you've got here, Finnick." I can't help but grin.

The walk takes about five minutes. One second we're still walking on gravel streets, and the next we're heading towards an enormous strip of golden sand. Beyond that, of course, is the ocean. Shimmering waves lapping at the shore. Salty air and sunshine.

We're running now, bare feet slapping the soft carpet of sand beneath us. Johanna lets out a loud whoop, which is echoed by Finnick. I hear someone giggling, before realizing it's me. _I'm_ giggling?

"Last one in the water has to be dunked!" Finnick yells. He's a few feet ahead of me, his arm around Annie as they run. "Prepare to get your asses wet!" Johanna hollers back in return, flashing an evil grin as she shoves past me. And then I feel a warm hand slip into mine, knowing without looking that it's Peeta. I shiver involuntarily.

This is the first time he's made any physical contact with me which doesn't involve nightmares and sweaty palms. Since the rebellion, anyways. I meet his eyes. The same striking blue. They're calm now, staring right through me with a hint of a smile. "Let's do this," he whispers. The words won't come out of my mouth, so I just nod and give his hand a squeeze, hopefully expressing everything I want to tell him. How much I've missed him. Peeta, the boy with the bread.

I pull him alongside me as we start to put on speed. I have absolutely no intention of being dunked whatsoever. He's still slightly on the slower side due to his leg, but we're definitely gaining on the others. Peeta lets out an uncharacteristic wolf whistle. "We're coming!" he shouts, grinning at me.

Finnick and Annie are still in the lead, although not by much. We're neck to neck with Johanna now. "You're going down, Mason," I say spontaneously. She rolls her eyes. "Like I couldn't take you," she retorts.

Finnick reaches the water first. Annie slams into him only a second later, gasping as she says something I can't hear. And then Johanna and I reach the edge of the water at what I can only say is the same time. Peeta's a second slower, like Annie.

We're all panting and gulping air. "That was low!" Annie exclaims indignantly between breaths, giving Finnick a dirty look. "What'd you do,huh?" Johanna asks, smirking. Finnick holds out his hands, a look of pure innocence on his face. "Nothing!" he protests. Annie glares at him. "Well, alright. I may or may not have pointed out a nonexistent rainbow," he admits sheepishly. Peeta laughs.

Annie crosses her arms over her chest. "You were just scared I'd beat you, Finn," she declares. "Who, me?" Finnick says, feigning surprise. "Never." Then all of a sudden, he picks her up from behind, his arms encircling her waist as he swings her around in the air. "Put me down!" Annie is trying to sound angry, but she's laughing. Finnick smiles cheekily. "Not unless you say you love me," he pretends to pout.

Johanna looks disgusted. "Oh, please. Cut the mush, lovebirds. Some of us would like to keep lunch down." They ignore her completely. "Alright, I love you!" Annie gasps as she tries to catch her breath between peals of laughter. Finnick sets her down slowly, his arms still wrapped around her waist. "I love you," he whispers huskily, but still loud enough for all of us to hear, even over the sound of the waves.

Then all of a sudden they're making out like it's the end of the world. They're entangled in each other in such an intimate way, and kissing with so much ferocity, that I have to look away. Somehow, I feel like we're intruding on their moment. Peeta looks mildly disgruntled. "That's probably either the hottest or most perverted scene I've ever seen in my life," he mutters.

"Get a room already," Johanna complains, shooting Peeta an approving look. "I'm here to enjoy the ocean, not watch porn." When this gets no response, she grits her teeth. "If you don't restrain yourself, Finnick, then I will, I swear."

I bite my lip to keep from snorting out loud. Finally, Annie steps back a few seconds later, blushing madly. Finnick sticks his tongue out at Johanna. "Party pooper," he says.

Johanna narrows her eyes. "Remember, you asked for this," she replies with a sweet smile, before running at him. She pushes him towards the water in one swift motion, taking him by surprise and successfully drenching him from head to toe.

Finnick looks confused for a second, but regains his composure in a second. "Fight's on!"

* * *

By the time we're back at the house, our clothes are soaked through, and my muscles are sore from swimming all afternoon. It's been a long time since I've exercised that much. Swimming in the ocean, it turned out, was completely different from swimming in my father's pond back in Twelve.

The currents are much stronger, and of course, a lot deeper. It's beautiful, though. It's almost as though there's a whole other world beneath the crystal waves. Schools of neon colored tropical fish gliding gracefully, jewel-colored corral reefs and exotic sea creatures I've never seen before. I spent nearly five minutes, I think, gaping over a golden star shaped creature Finnick tells me is called starfish.

There's no question about Finnick and Annie being the best swimmers. The way they moved through the water, they could have been part of the ocean itself. The water fight ended pretty fast once they teamed up against us.

After having dinner at one of the booths near the harbor, we'd headed back. I'm starting to get used to the salty breeze and the gentle lapping sound of the waves. Everything seems almost too good to be true. The cotton candy pink sky before nightfall, the salty fish soup I'm getting addicted to, and most of all, this feeling of complete ease and lightness.

Deep in my mind, though, I'm unsettled. At the overwhelming prospect that I could actually grow accustomed to this. To the happiness which used to be a luxury I could never afford. Because I know Peeta and I will go back to District Twelve eventually. What happens then? Will the Games and the nightmares come crashing back? If Peeta and I somehow manage to grow back together, is it only to tear us apart once more when we return to the hometown built upon ashes and broken dreams? There are too many questions which tug at my heart.

In another part of my mind, there's my mother. Hadn't Finnick mentioned her wanting to see me? I'd never admit it out loud, but I've missed her along with Prim and all the other people I know I'll never see again. I want to ask him, but a part of me is afraid of the answer. So I stay silent about my mother.

A sneeze, of all things, snaps me out of my thoughts with a jolt. Peeta smiles sheepishly. "Sorry. I liked watching you think, you know." We're sitting on the king bed in our room, watching a movie. At least before I spaced out. His comment takes me by surprise, as always. "Huh?"

He grins. "You have this little crease on your forehead when you're lost in thought. It's kind of cute." I remember a time when this type of remark would have made me guilty and uncomfortable. But right now, it just feels nice. The heat is creeping into my cheeks before I can stop it. "Do you think I'm cute?" I blurt out. Immediately, I want to stuff the words back into my mouth. They sound so stupid and shallow, especially coming from me. I know I'm not the kind of person to say these things. It's too late, though.

Peeta looks taken aback at first, but then he smiles, slowly. "I don't think you're cute," he says quietly. My heart almost stops. "You're beautiful, Katniss." My heart is going to explode.

Right then, the door flies open, and Finnick barges in. I can't help feeling a strange twinge of annoyance. Just as I'm about to chide him, though, I finally notice the grim expression on his face. He opens his mouth before either of us can say anything. His voice is tight.

"Plutarch Heavensbee called just now. The Seventy Sixth Hunger Games are taking place."

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 **I know Johanna has a thing with water in the books, by the way. Let's just not dwell on that since I wanted to give them all a fun afternoon, well, before the "real fun" begins. *winks* Please leave me a review on your thoughts so far! Have a good day, guys :)**


	6. Chapter 6

I want to thank you guys for every single view, review, favorite, and follow. You have no idea how much your support means to me. Reading your reviews always makes me so happy! I appreciate every one of you guys a ton. Hopefully, you'll continue reading and reviewing! Enjoy this chapter, and have a great day, xx.

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We pass the train ride in silence. We've only been in Four for around two days, and yet here we are on a train again, this time bound for the Capitol. After the rebellion, the Capitol had to undergo a massive repair job. I've heard things, of course, about how they're rebuilding the candy colored skyscrapers and installing brand new, high tech streetlights. Flashes of TV news which I turned off and dismissed. After all, it's not like I could care less. Up until now, that is.

Now I know why they've bothered to recreate the city which ignited the rebellion. Revenge. Because it wasn't enough to rip countless families apart. Kill thousands of innocent people, young and old. My flaming outfits and defiant words were all just a mere stage in this sick, twisted game of war and justice.

Months ago, in a room seated with my remaining fellow victors and Coin, we'd had a vote. The details of that day come rushing back in full detail now. I start to feel queasy. " _No! I vote no, of course! We can't have_ _another Hunger Games!" "Let them have a taste of their own medicine." "We have to stop viewing one another as enemies." Then, "I_ _vote yes…for_ Prim." For Prim.

My head starts to pound. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am 17 years old. My sister, Prim, was killed in a bombing. Released by the rebels I sided with. I survived. I voted yes to a final Hunger Games held with Capitol children. I am on a train now, headed for the Capitol. The Seventy Sixth Hunger Games will be taking place because of my vote that day. Children will be killed. Their families will mourn. Because of me.

I do remember Johanna and Enobaria voting yes along with me. And Haymitch. But I know whatever happens next, I am the one who is truly responsible. If I'd sided with Peeta, Annie, Finnick, and Beetee, Haymitch would have been with me. Which means there would be no Seventy Sixth Hunger Games.

A wave of confusion washes over me. Didn't I vote yes for Prim? For everything and everyone I lost to the Capitol. For justice. Or was it really vengeance?

Only when a pair of strong, familiar arms encircle me do I realize I'm sitting in a hunched position on the floor, rocking back and forth. There's something comforting about the steady rhythm. Back and forth. Tick, tock. The arena's a clock. And then I break down. Whatever bit of self control and sanity I had leaves me in an instant. I start to cry, not sniffles and silent tears, but loud sobs which rack my body and tear at my heart. My throat is dry and choked up, as though someone were strangling me. And then I'm thrashing around, fighting everyone and everything.

I can hear voices trying to reach me, see faces shifting around, but it's as though they're all obscured with a thick layer of fog. Nothing makes sense anymore. Eventually, I feel something cold and sharp stab into me, before I start descending into pitch black darkness.

When I open my eyes again, I'm in the room I share with Peeta, cocooned in a tangle of sheets. Evening light filters through the window, indicating that I've been out for…three, maybe four hours? Peeta is standing at the window with his back to me, his figure silhouetted.

As though he knew I were awake, he turns around, relief crossing his face. "Hey," he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Feel better?"

I nod. The headache and fog have cleared away, leaving just a dull throb. This must be some kind of record for me. Being knocked out twice in a month. I start to wonder if I'll be able to keep my sanity after all.

"So," I say, my voice dry and raspy. "What did I miss out on?" He shrugs. "Not much, really." But I can tell there's something he's not saying out loud. "You're a terrible liar, Mellark."

He sighs, averting my gaze. "Maybe it'd be best if I let Plutarch tell you himself," he says hesitantly. "Once you're in better condition, that is." "I'm not crazy!" I can feel my voice rising, panic starting to bubble in my stomach. "You're not," he says soothingly. "Of course you aren't, Katniss. I didn't say you were." "Then tell me." I stare him down until he gives in.

He sighs again. "Plutarch has been planning for the Seventy Sixth Hunger Games," he begins, in a flat, monotone voice. "He's rebuilt not just the Capitol, but also a new arena, training center, everything. The Reaping is taking place tomorrow, which is when we're scheduled to arrive. We're supposed to show up as some kind of honorary guest." He pauses for a moment, letting me digest all this information.

Tomorrow? Everything feels a bit surreal at the moment, so I just nod numbly for Peeta to continue. "There's going to be twenty-four tributes, same as always. Twelve female, twelve male, from ages twelve to eighteen. The only exception is that Snow's granddaughter has been guaranteed a spot in the games this year. Two weeks of training, and no mentors this year."

I raise my eyebrows. "That seems quite unfair," I say. His eyes are sad. "The games were never about fair, Katniss. You know that." I'm somewhat surprised at this coming from Peeta, since when did he become so jaded?

"We're the sponsors," he finishes. "Victors, and all of Panem." There's a heaviness in my chest which I can't explain. We both know that this year's games are going to be even more depressing and miserable than ever. They don't really stand a chance, those Capitol children. And it's not like they'll exactly have pools of eager sponsors, either.

"Peeta," I whisper. "Why did I ever vote for this?" He doesn't say anything. It's not necessary, really. The silence which hangs between us is woven out of all the feelings we'll never be able to voice.

As soon as we arrive at the Capitol, we're immediately ushered into a large auditorium by an excited looking Plutarch Heavensbee. He doesn't seem to notice the haggard expression on our faces, or the tiredness of our voices. He's beaming, ranting on and on about how this year shall be unforgettable, and how everyone just can't wait to see us, as though this were some big party.

I tune him out by turning my attention to other things instead. There's a stage at the front of the auditorium, complete with red velvet drapes and special effects lighting on the ceiling. The two crystal bowls are on the table rising out of the stage itself, filled to the brim with slips of white paper. I briefly wonder who will be the one who has to face the unpleasant task of pulling name after name out, announcing the death sentence of all but one tribute.

There are people everywhere. The seats are nearly full already, and there's a steady stream coming in through the doors. Today, these Capitol people somehow seem less frivolous and more subdued. The colorful wigs and ridiculous hats are still there, but beneath the layers of costume and makeup, I see creased foreheads and dull eyes. They look so devastated that I almost start to feel sorry for them.

Then I'm confused again. Aren't these the very same people who cheered for our deaths and took pleasure in the games we hated so much?

I feel a yank on my arm, and I'm suddenly pulled forward by Johanna, who's just behind Plutarch and the others. "Earth to Brainless," she whispers sarcastically. "Let's get our asses up front in those VIP seats, because we just can't wait for the games to start. It's going to be an oh so fabulous and unforgettable year."

I have to smile, despite everything. "It's definitely a big, big, big day," I agree mockingly. Then we both crack up a little, some of the tension eased. I'm secretly glad to have Johanna by my side, someone who I know I can trust to snap me out of my mood.

We settle down in one row, with Plutarch to the left, Peeta next to Plutarch, then me, Finnick, Annie, and Johanna. Beetee and Enobaria show up a while later, sitting down silently. I can't say I'm surprised at Haymitch's absence.

The announcer, it turns out, is none other than Effie herself, sporting a lavender colored wig today. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the annual reaping of the Seventy Sixth Hunger Games!" she trills, her voice wobbling a bit. There's half-hearted applause before she continues. "As you all know," she says slowly, "This year is very, very special." A pause. "These shall be the final, and ultimate Hunger Games in the history of Panem. " She swallows visibly. "This year's tributes are from our very own Capitol." Silence. "Let's get started, then!" she says hurriedly, clapping her hands loudly. It's almost like watching someone having a conversation with themself.

It starts. I don't recognize any of the names, and the list just goes on and on. Only a few names leave an impression in my mind, though. There's Ophelia Snow, Snow's granddaughter, who turns out to be sixteen with white blond hair and icy blue eyes. Then there's Dimitri, a tall, stocky eighteen year old with a bald head and a body covered in tattoos. Marcus, a thirteen year old with wild curls and startling green eyes.

We're down to the last few tributes, I think, when someone catches my attention. The girl who walks towards the stage looks around fifteen or sixteen, with jet black hair and a slim frame. When she reaches the stage, and turns around to face the audience, that's when I know for sure. Emerald eyes with flecks of gold in them. A very light coat of makeup, barely visible save the metallic bronze eyeliner.

I'm frozen. It can't be. No, the resemblance is too uncanny to be ignored. Stylish black leather jacket and matching black pants. Simple white blouse and a pair of caramel colored knee boots. This outfit could only have been designed by one person I know. Those eyes could only belong to him.

And all of a sudden, I know without a doubt that Cinna's daughter has just been reaped.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey, I'm alive! I know, I know, I'm terrible at updating, since this chapter is at least a week late. I promise I'll try to get better at sticking with my schedule. Your reviews and support mean the world to me, honestly. I love each of you who has read, reviewed, or followed my story! You guys are the best. I'd buy all of you hot chocolate and Happy Meals if I could.**

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Anyways, enjoy the chapter and review to let me know what you think!

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p.s. I almost forgot…I have a surprise for you guys, can you guess? Hint: It has something to do with Christmas

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The first thought which registers in my mind is, it can't be. There's a part of me trying desperately to convince myself of this, while the other part remains numb and unresponsive. Coincidences happen, right?

But no part of the Games have ever been purely coincidental. There's the undeniable truth, staring me in the face. No, I'm sure. I'd recognize that outfit anywhere. I force myself to glance at Peeta, realizing that he must see what I see, too.

Our eyes only lock for a brief second, but it's enough. I see my own horror reflected in his expression.

He opens his mouth to say something, but I shake my head quickly. Somehow I know this is definitely not the place to talk. Thankfully, he gets my signal and stays silent.

I turn my attention back to the stage, with a heavy feeling in my gut. I see Effie's mouth moving, but her words don't make any sense. And then the tributes are taking a bow, everyone's applauding, and it's over. Just like that.

Cinna has a daughter. Cinna, my beautiful stylist who died because of me. And then it hits me. I can't let her die. This is the only thing I can do to repay him, if anything. I kept Peeta alive, didn't I? Twice, even though I had a lot of help the second time. All of a sudden, my mind clears and I feel the tiniest spark of hope light up.

I follow the others out through the exit before speaking up. "Wait," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear me. They all stop to give me questioning looks. A moment passes. "Spit it out," Johanna says in exasperation.

I take a deep breath. They stay silent as I explain the situation as calmly as possible, trying not to sound irrational. Only when I'm finished does Finnick let out a long breath. "Of course she'll win," he says confidently. "You've got us to help." Annie gives me a reassuring smile. "That's right," she says softly. Peeta takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. Now we're all looking at Johanna.

"She'll make it out fine," she says gruffly. "If you had any sense, Brainless, you'd know that by now. She'll have sponsors tripping over themselves to send in anything she needs, with us being famous and all." I swallow hard. "Thank you," I say, my voice catching a little.

"Let's go," Peeta says quietly. Our eyes meet again, and this time his tell me everything will be alright.

* * *

We're in Finnick and Annie's room, in the luxurious house which Plutarch arranges for us to temporarily live in. It's basically a mansion, with five floors, a swimming pool, a gym, and a sauna. We've each got our own rooms, with Finnick and Annie sharing one, Peeta and I in another, and Johanna occupying one by herself.

We've been trying to talk about strategies, but it's hard to be efficient when we keep ordering food and beverages from the screen in the wall. I remember the device from my room in the Training Center back then, which brings back a few uncalled for memories, but in the end, hunger wins over.

"So," Johanna says, her mouth full of puff pastry. "Her name is Juliet." "Let's list all of the tributes on paper," Finnick suggests, grabbing a notepad and pen from the large oak desk. We crowd around him and rack our memories as he starts to write. We manage to come up with eighteen names, which I think is pretty impressive.

"Okay," Finnick declares, sitting back on his heels. "Any excess information? Such as, say, possible strengths or weaknesses?" Annie frowns. "Marcus," she muses slowly, "He looked like the youngest, maybe around thirteen?" Finnick beams at her as he jots that down next to Marcus's name. "That's great, love," he says enthusiastically. Johanna fakes gagging. "Dimitri," she says confidently. "That guy with the tattoos? I'll bet he's something. Looks like he can kill, that's for sure." It's added to the list.

Peeta volunteers insight on a few more of the tributes, and after that there's really not much left for us to do. It's a start, though. Tomorrow, according to Plutarch, we'll get to personally meet all of the tributes so we can decide who we want to sponsor and such. Soon after, the training will begin, followed by the parade and interviews the night before the Games take place, as usual.

After some more delicacies and small talk, we each wander off in the mansion to do some exploring. Johanna heads straight for the gym, and Finnick and Annie decide to go swimming, leaving me alone with Peeta.

I try to think of interesting things to say, but I've never been good at this kind of thing. And anyways, it shouldn't be like this, the two of us. He is not a stranger, I remind myself. We've been through hell and worse together, so why is it so hard to talk like we used to, let alone grow back together?

"Let's go to the sauna," he suggests after a few minutes of silence. "Might as well enjoy ourselves while we're here."

I find myself feeling glad I'd agreed once we're in the water. The temperature is just right, and the thin veil of mist feels cool and invigorating on our skin. We're sitting next to each other, shoulders barely touching. The initial awkwardness soon fades after a few minutes as we both begin to relax.

I gather up my courage to speak up first. "What do you think?" I ask. "I mean, it wasn't by chance, was it?" I sound desperate even to myself. I realize I'm afraid to hear his answer.

He pauses before answering me. "It's not like I know anything more than you do on the subject," he says matter-of-factly. "But this I do know. The war is far from over. The people, they're still angry. At this point, anything, really, could set off another rebellion. They want deaths to avenge their own loved ones. Because they're so far gone that they want to believe revenge is the answer. And it's not."

He grabs my hand suddenly, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Don't you get it, Katniss?" he says, almost pleadingly. "The Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games are not going to change things for the better, if anything. It's never going to end. The deaths of twenty-three Capitol children aren't going to bring back anyone. It won't unite us into a whole nation, or lead to a better future. All it's going to do is tear families apart one more time, the same way they broke us."

Yes, I see now. His eyes grip mine with startling intensity. "What do we do?" I whisper. "I can't let her die. Not after Cinna." He sags suddenly, like all the energy has been drained out of him. His voice is rugged and weary when he answers me.

"Stay alive."

* * *

By morning, I've reached a sort of inner peace with my mind, at least for now. Stay alive. The words are what fuels me to get up from bed and face the day. If they're expecting an unforgettable year, let them have it. After all, there's nothing stopping me from playing against the rules. Since I'm going to be a piece in the game, I'm going to play on my own terms this time.

The others seem to sense my mood. Johanna is the first one to break the silence at the breakfast table. "How about a speech?" she suggests. "You know, one of those inspiring things you said during the rebellion, for the propos. Since we're going to be fighting again and all." "Not literally, of course," she adds quickly as Annie shoots her a worried look.

I take a deep breath. "That's right," I say evenly. "We're not going to be fighting anyone anymore. We're going to fight the Games in itself. The tributes aren't the real enemy. I can't say anything for sure, but I'm betting there's a bigger reason behind these Games." I see Finnick and Johanna exchange a look. I continue. "President Snow once told me, I quote,"We both know I'm not above killing children, but I'm not wasteful. I take life for very specific reasons.""

"He may not have been a good President, but these words, at least, are true. Killing is always a personal thing. Take us, for instance. I killed Marvel because he killed Rue. Cato killed Thresh because he killed Clove." "What about Prim?" Johanna cuts in suddenly. "Did Gale kill her for a reason?"

I have to turn away. "That was over the line, Jo," Finnick says quietly. Someone takes my hand under the dining table. It's Annie, with concerned eyes and a solemn expression. I feel a surge of gratitude towards her, sweet, lovely Annie who'd reach out to anyone in need. I give her hand a little squeeze to let her know I'm okay.

"Sorry," Johanna says uncertainly. "It's fine," I say quickly. I can tell she's genuinely embarrassed, and I know she didn't mean anything, even if it hurt. I clear my throat. "Anyways, as I said, I believe there's a bigger reason behind this year's Games. Apart from revenge, that is. Whatever it is, though, I'm going to find out." I bite my lip. "I've always preferred to hunt alone," I say. "But after everything that's happened in the past year, I would rather have you guys at my side than anything or anyone else. I need you to do this with me."

I look at each of them, from Annie to Finnick, Johanna, and finally, Peeta. Finnick raises his glass. "To friends," he says. "Justice, peace, and a better Panem." We toast.


	8. Chapter 8

**Once again, thank you all for the incredibly sweet and positive reviews! You won't believe how happy it makes me to read your reviews. You guys make me smile, like a kid on Christmas morning. Speaking of which...something special will be coming up soon. For now, enjoy this chapter, and keep on reviewing! I love hearing from every single one of you :)**

* * *

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I won the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games alongside my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark, and survived the third Quarter Quell to become the face of the rebellion which eventually overtook the Capitol."

There. That's my life summed up in two sentences, plain and simple. I briefly think of all the things which happened in between. The things which lead to others in particular. The ones none of it would have happened without.

I'm sitting across from Juliet, in a room on the twentieth floor of what is now the brand new Training Center. Built just for the one Games which will be taking place two weeks from now.

Anyhow, these are the first words I say to her. I don't tell her about the way her eyes remind me so much of Cinna. Or how I can still see him being dragged away by the Peacekeepers, forehead smeared with blood, eyes wide and lips moving.

Instead, I introduce myself in the simplest way possible. Start with the facts which can be counted on.

"I know," she says quietly. There's a pause, a lull in this increasingly painful conversation. I observe her. She has an excellent poker face. "Is it worth it?" she says suddenly.

I'm taken aback by her question. "Winning," she eludes, somewhat bitterly. Her eyes lock mine in her unwavering gaze. "Is the life they promise you as a victor really worth killing for?" I have no idea how to answer the question. Is it worth it? I think of the nights I'd woken up sweaty and screaming, and the crushing guilt and misery which follows in the aftermath of killing. Then I think of the way Peeta's eyelashes looked golden in the afternoon sunlight. How I felt infinite, in a way, on the day we'd gone to the beach.

I realize the answer. "Yes," I say simply. "And no. It's the people you love which makes it bearable. Happy, even. It's not about the money or fame. You win for the summer nights and the sound the birds make at dawn. It's a desire, an instinct, a will- to live. Nothing more and nothing less." I meet her eyes this time.

When she speaks again, I can tell I've gained her trust somehow. "Help me, then. I-I want to live." Her voice cracks a little at the end, and I feel something twist inside of me. She's just a scared young girl. Not so different from the deer Gale and I used to hunt in the woods. Her expression is startled, one of confusion and sadness, along with a lot of other things mingled in.

"Listen," I say calmly. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you it'll be easy. It's not. You're going to face twenty-three strangers who'll stand between you and your chance of survival. You might ally with some of them. Get to know them, like them, even. Others you'll never get a chance to talk to. But no matter what, only one of you is going to make it out of the arena alive. Do what it takes. I can help you prepare for your interview, coach you through training, give you some tips on combat technique, but the rest is up to you."

I understand now. Before my first Games, I thought Haymitch was just being sarcastic and drunken when the only advice he gave me was to stay alive. It took me all this time to see what he really meant. The Games are so much more than a battle for survival. It's not just your life which is at stake, but everything you are. That's what Peeta said, anyway. " _It_ _costs everything_ _you_ _are_."

I glance at the clock on the wall. "It's about time," I tell her. "You don't want to miss training. You can never predict the arena, so remember, any skill could be a life-saving one. I'd recommend the edible plants and knot-tying stations. Steer clear of the popular ones, like knife-throwing or spears." I know this is what Haymitch would say to me if he were here.

She nods, hesitates for a moment, then tentatively steps toward me. I'm surprised when she puts her arms around me in a hug. I hug her back, and it feels right even though I'd normally be uncomfortable having physical contact with someone this way. "Thank you, Katniss," she says softly. "I'm glad my father was your stylist. You looked beautiful in that mockingjay dress, you know."

My throat catches. When we finally let go of each other, she gives me a small smile before walking out.

"Juliet," I whisper. I know she can't hear me, but I say it anyways. "I'm betting on you."

* * *

Our plan was to split up so we'd each get to talk to different tributes, and explore the Training Center a bit. Maybe see if we could get any news from Plutarch.

After talking to Juliet, I know for sure that I'm going to get her out of the Games alive. She has a certain quality of goodness in her, that much I can tell. Not unlike Peeta's, either. With my mind set, I start wandering various floors of the building, hoping to make some useful discoveries.

Instead, I bump into Finnick, who's looking lost in thought as he walks towards me. "Hey," I say. I actually have to wave my hands in front of his face several times to get his attention. "Hey," he says at last, smiling sheepishly. "Found anything?" I shake my head. "You?"

He shrugs. "I've been thinking," he starts slowly. I just can't resist the urge to tease him a little. "That's unusual," I interrupt, smirking. He rolls his eyes. "Very funny. What I was going to say is, I've been thinking about what you said this morning. You know, the part about there being a bigger reason behind this year's Games." I wait for him to go on. The joking has gone from his tone, and his eyes look troubled, for once.

"I think you might be right," he says suddenly. "I hadn't really considered it that way before. When Coin brought up the proposal, I thought it was because of your sister. How it would maybe balance things out, even if just a little."

He frowns. "She didn't see the assassination coming, that's for sure. So we have no way of knowing what she intended to do after Snow was killed. Run Panem on her own, probably. But there was absolutely no reason for her to want to hold a final Hunger Games. Think about it, Katniss. By that point, if she'd really wanted to destroy the entire Capitol population, she could have done it. She wouldn't even have needed a reason. The war was more than won by then. A few bombs, and the job would have been done. But she chose the Games instead. Why?"

I'm speechless. Why, indeed? I try to think of the logical explanation, anything, to disrupt the feeling of unease which has started to settle at the back of my mind.

Before either of us can say anything more, though, we're suddenly met by a stormy faced Johanna. Her voice is strange. "I made an interesting discovery. You two should come to the top floor, _right now_." She turns and walks off without further explanation.

I look at Finnick, who looks just as confused as I feel. We hurry after her in silence.

The top floor is on the thirtieth floor, which we arrive in a few seconds, via a high speed glass elevator. We walk on carpeted halls and pass row after row of closed doors. The corridors are seemingly endless, twisting and turning this way and that. The silence is getting unnerving.

After what seems like an eternity, Johanna stops at one of the doors, one with a doorknob shaped like a lion's head. She shoves it open and we follow.

What's inside takes my breath away. The ceiling must be at least twenty feet high, and made of black marble. In fact, the entire room is made out of black marble, giving it the atmosphere of importance and elegance. There's an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and a long, rectangular table in the middle of the room, directly under the chandelier. There are two rows of chairs on either side of the table, and one at each end. I can see our reflection from every wall.

Once I get over my astonishment, I see four people seated at the table, two on the left side, one on the right, and one at the head of the table, with his back to me. I realize it's Peeta and Annie on the left, and Plutarch on the right. Johanna stands behind Peeta and Annie, arms crossed.

When she speaks, her voice bounces off every wall, echoing several times.

"So," she says. "Katniss, Finnick, meet the new Head Gamemaker."

The person with his back to us stands up, and turns around slowly.

* * *

 **I'm sorry, I just couldn't help it! I had to end the chapter with a cliffhanger :) What did you guys think of that? Any guesses on who it might be?**

 **Well, wait and find out!**

 **Have a good day,xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey, guys! I'm so sorry for the delay. I seem to be saying this in all of my author's notes, haha. Well, I've been busy, so once again, apologies, apologies! Hopefully this chapter will prove to be worth the wait. I love you all so much. Your support and positive reviews make me the happiest person ever :) Without further ado, enjoy! (Remember to keep telling me what you think, too !)**

* * *

It's Gale.

My former best friend and hunting partner. The one I trusted and turned to when things fell apart. The one I counted on. And he's here now, standing just a few feet in front of me, with a completely different identity. How can a person change so much in so little time?

I try to find some sort of familiarity in the steely grey eyes, but there's nothing save emptiness staring back at me. He's really gone, then. This isn't Gale Hawthorne. It's just a shell of him, a twisted version the Capitol produced.

The silence in the room seems to stretch out forever. After all, what do you say at times like this?

I take a quick look at the others. Peeta looks tense, his lips pressed together in a thin line, hands clenched in fists so tightly his knuckles are white. Johanna is unmoving, standing stiffly with her arms crossed and murderous eyes. That scowl would be enough to kill someone, if looks actually could kill. Finnick looks grim.

Ironically, Annie seems to be the most relaxed person in the room. No frowning, clenched fists, or even the slightest sign of, well, negativity. Her emerald eyes are worried and unsure.

I don't even want to look at Plutarch. There's a sickening feeling starting to rise in my stomach. I would rather be anywhere but here right now. I can't do this. I'm not ready, and I'm not sure I ever will be, to talk to him. It's too painful.

"Catnip," he says hoarsely. All of a sudden, I'm furious. "Catnip," I mock. "Hello, Gale. I can see that you've been well. The tie really suits you." My voice is steady, to my satisfaction. He takes a step towards me. For a brief second, I catch the hurt flashing through his eyes, and I almost feel sorry for what I said. Then the moment is over.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, avoiding my gaze. "But I was afraid you wouldn't listen." I give a short, sarcastic laugh. "Well, guess what," I answer. "You're right. I don't want to listen to anything you have to say. You've told me enough already. You've done all the damage you can. I hope you're happy." My heart feels like it's going to explode.

"Happy?" he retorts suddenly, his face darkening. "You honestly think I've been happy since what happened? If that's what you think, damn you, Katniss. Damn you."

"Maybe we should all watch what we say," Finnick interrupts, stepping in between us. His voice is neutral, but I can hear the underlying threat directed at Gale. My throat catches unexpectedly, and I feel a rush of warmth towards him. I thank him silently.

Gale and Finnick seem to have some sort of staring contest, until Plutarch finally speaks up. He clears his throat loudly. "Maybe we could all go down to the Training Center," he suggests awkwardly.

No one answers him. After what seems like an eternity, Gale turns away to walk over to one of the windows facing the city below. "You can all go down, then," he says bitterly. I stare at his silhouette for a second longer, and suddenly I feel exhausted, like a tire which has just been popped. Deflated. The energy and fight which had been my motivation hours ago is gone just like that, leaving me drained and hollow.

I don't realize Johanna is talking to me until I feel her dig her nails into my arm and drag me towards the door. "We're going down to the Training Center," she hisses in my ear. "And you know what? We're going to observe. Take notes. Figure out a brilliant strategy which is going to keep Juliet alive and well. Gale is an ass. So suck it up, Everdeen, and get over yourself."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah," I mutter back. We get into the glass elevator, the five of us sans Plutarch. My arm is seriously starting to hurt, but Johanna's not done yet.

"Smile," she breathes behind me. "Stop sulking and acting defeated. It doesn't improve your looks, you know." I have to laugh a little at that.

* * *

We're standing on a balcony about ten feet above the Training Center itself. There are plush armchairs and everything, but we're all standing, leaning on the banister. The view is excellent.

According to Plutarch, this is the "VIP section." As if we were watching a movie or a ball game.

There are more stations than there used to be, that much I can tell. I spot a group clustered at the spears station, no surprise there. There's another group at the hand to hand combat ring, then most of the other tributes are randomly spread out at various stations. I try to find Juliet, but I'm not having any luck so far.

Peeta nudges me. "Four o'clock," he says in a low voice. I look over to where he's staring pointedly at. It's the knife throwing station. There's a small crowd gathering, clustering around someone I can't see. I peer a little harder.

It's Dimitri, the guy with the tattoos. And he's hurling knives at the target dummies with a ferocity I haven't seen in any of the other tributes this year. But it's the accuracy which sends a chill through my spine. That aim could easily take out a person from twenty yards away.

I realize with an unnerving jolt that I may have underestimated some of the competitors this year. As though he'd read my mind, Peeta leans over to whisper to me. "These Capitol children," he breathes, eyes fixed on the figures below. "They look silly and shallow, but who knows what they're capable of?" I bite my lip.

Just then, there's a loud clang and a series of shouts. I can't make out the exact words, given the invisible protection shimmering between us and the tributes, but I catch a lot of swearing and grunting. After a few seconds of straining for a glimpse past the nervous, twittering crowd, I manage to spot Dimitri. He's entangled with a lanky, red-haired guy in some sort of headlock.

From what I can see, it's starting to get serious. There are people trying to push through the crowd to separate the two, but the onlookers aren't giving way. More shouting and scuffling. I don't know the name of the red-haired guy, but he's beginning to turn purple. I notice how Dimitri's arms are sturdy and well-muscled, positioned around the other boy's neck in a specific angle.

It's an excellent headlock. He's obviously not playing around. And even though hand to hand combat isn't necessarily one of my strengths, I can tell that this is definitely not his first time using the headlock. Where and why a Capitol boy would use such a technique, though, I have no idea whatsoever.

"He's going to die if they don't get to him soon," Peeta says suddenly. We all turn to look at him. Annie looks slightly shocked, her lips parted and her eyes wide. Finnick sighs as he wraps his arms around her from behind, murmuring something soothingly in her ears. Johanna looks vaguely interested.

"Peeta," I hiss. "You can't just go around saying things like that." I already notice Plutarch taking on a strange look. He shrugs nonchalantly. "I don't care, alright?" he says loudly. He steps back from the banister. "I'm done. I'm done hiding, pretending, and skirting around all these things, acting like they don't exist." He whirls on the others. "I don't know about you all," he says. "But I'm tired of this game. We're killing people. Taking life after life. Wrecking families and lovers. But here we are, pretending it's just some game."

His tone drips with disgust. "You know what? We're killers. Every one of us. We're cold-blooded killers who have been trained to believe what we're doing is right. We try to justify the deaths we caused by lying and faking. Anything else they tell you is a lie. A big, fat, stinking lie."

He storms out of the room. We're silent, but only for a moment. There's a scream from below. Force field or not, there's no doubt we've all heard it. The scream is unmistakably a girl's. It takes a split second longer for her cry to sink into my brain. For the meaning to really register.

She'd said," _He's dead_."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys, sorry for the late update! (again, I know.) It's really hard to handle school and write at the same time, although I know it's not a good reason. Anyways, hopefully this chapter will have been worth the wait! On the bright side, winter vacation starts this Friday for me, so I'll probably be writing and updating more frequently then :) Your reviews make me the happiest person ever. Enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!**

 **p.s. I just realized that I haven't been reading a lot of fanfiction since I started _writing_ it myself, so if you guys have any recommendations, (including your own stories,) feel free to tell me! I'd be happy to read your stories.**

 **p.p.s. Here's some news for y'all...I'm currently working on a series of one-shots with the awesome Katie (Juliet's Shadow!) She's an amazing writer as well as a lovely person, so you guys can look forward to that :)**

* * *

We're sitting around a conference table, the five of us with Plutarch and Gale and a few others I've never seen before. Nobody looks particularly happy to be present.

A young girl flits around the table nervously, serving us each a glass of what I assume is wine. It looks fancy, the jewel colored liquid, and I've no doubt it's expensive, but I can't help thinking of Haymitch and his liquor. Which brings no inclination at all to touch the drink. I briefly wonder what he'd do if he were here, and a small part of me wishes he actually was.

When the girl is done, Plutarch waves his hand dismissively. "Thank you. You can go now." We all watch as she bows before scurrying out. Now there's no more delaying the inevitable. The atmosphere is stiff and unforgiving.

To his credit, Plutarch does his best to initiate the conversation. "Friends," he says, clearing his throat loudly. "Let's go over the incident which just occurred in the Training Center. One of the tributes was strangled by another. The Peacekeepers on duty attempted-" He's interrupted by Peeta, whose eyes are uncharacteristically cold.

"What was he called?" There's silence for a moment before Plutarch speaks again, looking surprised and mildly puzzled. "We were discussing the incident, Peeta."

"No!" Peeta stands up so fast his chair goes flying back. He slams his fist on the table. We all flinch. "That's exactly it!" he shouts. "You're talking about him as though he were an item. An accessory to your precious Games, maybe? But he wasn't, alright? Goddamn-" He breaks off suddenly. His stare sweeps across us one by one.

"You think I'm mad," he says slowly. "Poor lover boy who's gone off the deep end. Do you want to sedate me?" He flings his arms out. "Go on, then. Lock me up in an asylum. Or whatever you do to all the people who ever tried to speak the truth. He was a living, breathing person. And now he's dead." He stares at us for a second longer before collapsing back into his chair.

Johanna is the next to speak. "He's right," she says clearly. "You hear him? Peeta's just said everything which needs to be said in this stupid conference. He just said what we're all afraid to say. Because we're cowards, the lot of us. We're murderers who are too scared to face ourselves."

Her eyes dare us to defy her. _We're cowards, the lot of us._ I'd never admit it to her, but I do admire Johanna in moments like this. And of course, Peeta. His words are beyond powerful, surely even Plutarch must see that now. They're infectious. I might be a better fighter, but I know my words will never have the same effect as Peeta's. I realize how tiring it must be for him.

He knew from the start, from our first Games. He saw through the fancy clothes and exquisite food. He saw the Games for what they really are, when the rest of us were only trying to stay alive.

In this moment, I want nothing more than to erase the creases from his forehead and take away his pain. I want the red haired boy to have died for something. Maybe that's what fuels me to say what I do next.

"We all know what happened, Plutarch. I say we hold a funeral. A proper one. We invite his family over and tell them the truth. No sugarcoating or lying. We tell them what happened. It's what we owe them in the least, after all."

The reaction is instant. Plutarch stares at me as if I'm the one who's gone mad. "That's out of the question," he declares. "I'm sorry, Katniss, but it's impossible. The Games are beginning less than a week from now. How do you think people would react if the news got out? We can't afford to have a riot at this point. I assure you the boy will have our highest respects. But I don't think you know what you're saying."

"Katniss knows what she's saying all right," Finnick says quietly. Plutarch closes his mouth. When Finnick Odair makes a statement, you don't argue. You agree. And despite the situation, I have to suppress a smile. It feels good to know you have people who will stand by your side.

However, no one is expecting what Gale says next. "Let it be, then," he says. One of the men I don't recognize turns to him, mouth open in protest, but Gale cuts him off with a sharp look. "I said, let it be," he repeats. Plutarch looks stupefied. "Mr. Hawthorne," he says carefully. "I hope you're not, ah, letting _personal reasons_ affect your judgement?" I can feel my cheeks burning.

Gale, however, looks unmoved as he stands up. "I assume you have no objections, then," he answers coldy. The look on Plutarch's face right now might have been comical under different circumstances. His mouth is opening and closing repeatedly like a fish out of water. Finally, he manages a somewhat forced smile. "Fine," he says. "The conference is over. I'll inform you of the details once the arrangements have been made."

Gale nods once before walking out. The men I don't know follow suit, until we're left alone with a rather exasperated looking Plutarch. He opens his mouth again as if to say something, before thinking better of it and leaving instead.

Johanna bursts out laughing as soon as he's out of earshot. "Did you see the look on his face?" she splutters between snorts. "You would've thought we'd asked him to strip or something."

That brings on smiles, even from Annie.

* * *

I have never been to a Capitol funeral before.

Back in Twelve, the ceremony would have been simple. The person who'd passed on would be dressed in his best clothes and laid in a plain wooden coffin. His relatives and friends would be there, along with the mayor and perhaps his children, if he had any.

The mayor would read a passage from an ancient leather book. I'm surprised to find I can still remember the entire thing.

" _It's been a long way,_

 _a journey of love and hardships,_

 _as we near the edge of earth,_

 _and our ocean graves are just beyond,_

 _the skyline splits in two,_

 _O' Lord,_

 _I can see the stars,_

 _Can you?_

 _Tonight, we bleed,_

 _Soul and heart,_

 _Together into the stars_

 _O'Lord,_

 _Pray let the night forgive my sins,_

 _And morning bestow me purity,_

 _Life, anew."_

Then there'd be a moment of silence during which everyone would lower their heads and say their final goodbyes silently. The only funeral I really remember attending is my father's, and I snap out of my thoughts at this point because I don't want to think about that day right now.

Instead, I focus on what's happening at present. Capitol funerals, apparently, are nothing short of festive. I learn that the boy's name was Lark Sedwick. His family, a brightly dressed group, is huddled a few feet away from me. We're in what I can only describe as an extremely large garden somewhere along the borders of the Capitol.

There's a single path leading to the platform on which the coffin has been placed, under an arch of water lilies. Twinkling lights have been draped over the trees on either side of the path. Rather than the black themed clothes we would have worn in Twelve, everyone is dressed in what appears to be the brightest colors possible. Orange feathered hats, pink heels, purple gowns, and that's not even half of it.

"Funerals are like parties," someone says from behind me. Of course it's Finnick, dressed in a crisp tuxedo and staring off into the distance. Annie is talking to Johanna somewhere to our right. "That's a funny way of putting it," I answer, unsure what he's getting at.

"They're sending in a new tribute," he says, his tone low and urgent. I realize he's barely moving his lips. "It's not the best place to be telling you this," he continues, scanning the crowd. "But I'm not sure I'll have another chance, so just listen. Nod and laugh now and then. Pretend we're talking about something normal and interesting." I nod.

"They found a note on his body – Lark's, that is. It said _when we die, you die with us_." I can feel a shiver creeping up my spine. The words are familiar, but I just can't remember where I'd heard them before. "Plutarch doesn't want this getting out," he continues. "We're keeping this between you, me, and Johanna. Gale knows, too. That's it. We don't want Peeta or Annie to know because, well, you know." I nod again and manage a shaky laugh. Safety reasons.

"There's no reason to panic," Finnick adds. "At least not for the moment. Just keep it in mind and watch what you say."

"Right," I breathe. And then it hits me. _If we burn, you burn with us_. I try to make the connection, but my thoughts are jumbled and my mind's frustratingly blank.

I find myself walking towards the arch, to where Lark's family is standing in a tight group. It's almost eerie how they shuffle to the side for me as i approach, save an old woman I presume to be Lark's grandmother. I stop in front of her before realizing I have no idea what to say.

The old woman steps forward and grips my hands in a surprisingly firm hold. Her fingers are icy and worn. "We know," she says before I can open my mouth again. Know what? About how her grandson died? Her voice is husky when she speaks again.

"Let his death matter. Don't let it have been for nothing, Miss Everdeen." Her eyes pierce into mine, and I can only nod numbly.

She lets go.


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm back with a new chapter! I know I said I'd update more frequently since I'm on winter vacation atm, but hopefully after reading this chapter you'll see why I took so long. This is definitely the longest chapter I've written by far. You guys seem to have lost interest in the story, but I promise it'll only keep getting better! As a matter of fact, part 1 of the story is nearly complete. I have everything planned out, you'll have to keep reading to get your answers :)**

 **Anyways, enjoy and remember to let me know what you think with a review! I appreciate you guys so much. Love y'all!**

 **P.S. For those of you wondering, Gale is going to come in _very soon._ I swear I haven't forgotten about him. He's a big part of our first real climax.**

* * *

"Peeta," I whisper. My voice slices the night into slivers. There's us, lying on the bed in a tangle of sheets and body. Then there's the rest of the world. Outside our room, people are talking. Talking, talking, talking. Do they ever stop?

They talk about the Games, which are happening exactly two days from now. They talk about the latest trends and who kissed whom. Talk about Erik Bradshaw, the tribute who was sent in this morning to replace Lark.

He's not going to win. I feel a pang of sadness as the realization takes on the form of five simple words in my mind. Why do I care? I don't know him. Just like I'll never get to know the twenty two other tributes who will die. They will die because Juliet will live. Or is it because we're too cowardly to stand up to the Games?

These questions are infinite. The harder I try to find the answers, the farther away they slip. It's like chasing someone on a train. You keep running, reach out, but just as you think you've caught up, the train puts on a burst of speed and you're left in the dust with a pounding heart.

Peeta runs a finger over my forehead, brushing away a stray strand of hair. "Yeah."

We're facing each other in the dark, our faces lit in the pale moonlight trickling through the window.

"Where do we go from here?" My question hangs in the air between us. I'm not sure if he understands what I mean. I'm not sure I do, either.

"The Games. What you said, about us being killers. Gale. I can't face him. And I can't let Juliet die. I owe Cinna and it's the only thing I'll ever be able to do for him." The words come out in a rush, spilling out of me in choppy, uneven sentences.

I hate myself for the stinging in the corners of my eyes.

Peeta scoots closer to me, his hands finding my cheeks and enveloping them in his warmth. "Shh," he murmurs. "We'll find a way for this to end." I want to believe him more than anything I've ever done. Tonight, though, the ghosts are relentless.

"Stay with me," he says quietly. I close my eyes, and his lips find mine. We are two lost souls, swimming around in a fishbowl, year after year. His lips taste like the red wine we drank after dinner.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest, trace the muscles on his arm. At some point, he starts to snore softly. Outside our room, the lights start to dim as people go to bed too late and drunk. They'll sleep. Dream, maybe. I wonder if they'll dream about a place where the Games never existed. I don't know where there is, but I hope it's beautiful.

The stars glitter on as the city sleeps.

"Always," I whisper.

* * *

I think I actually manage to doze off for a while before waking to a gust of cold air in my face. As carefully as I can, I extract myself from Peeta's arms, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and tiptoe towards the window. My hunting skills haven't betrayed me. I am silent and stealthy. Not unlike a predator back in the woods.

With the window shut, I have a sudden urge to get out of the room. A predator should not be trapped in a closed space. The walls have become obstacles standing between me and the outside world. I need to be in open air.

The door doesn't make a sound as I leave. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think there might have been a time when I would've been afraid, wandering through an unfamiliar building in the dead of night. But, no. I am fearless. The shadows are calling, and darkness is only a whisper away.

Or maybe I discovered long ago that the ghosts we fear are lurking elsewhere entirely. When you stop checking for monsters under your bed, that's when you realize they've been in your head all along.

I find myself at a metal door at the end of a hall, push, and to my surprise, it gives way. The surge of cold air which greets me this time is more than welcome. I'm standing on the roof, a wide concrete surface towering over the city below.

Even at nighttime, the buildings scattered on the streets have been lit up. Neon lights and flashing signs everywhere. I allow myself to marvel at the scene for a moment. They've rebuilt the Capitol well. From here, you could never tell this was the very city which sparked the war. No signs of blood on the paper white walls. No fallen soldiers and screaming children in the alleys.

They've erased any trace of the rebellion. Wiped us off their history the way they might a stain on a tablecloth. A few more years, and the proof will be truly gone. All that'll be left are the haunted eyes.

That's when I notice someone sitting with their back to me, at the edge of the roof.

Immediately, my hunting instincts kick in. Prey or predator? There's no telling for sure. I edge a little closer, silently. It's a girl. She's sitting with her arms wrapped around knees, leaning slightly to the right.

She turns around just as I'm about to say something, though I'm not sure what. Her eyes widen a little. It's Juliet.

"Hey," I offer. I sound uncertain. She visibly relaxes. "Hey," she answers. After a moment, "You can sit with me, you know."

I do, carefully, even though I'm sure there's a force field not too far in front of us. The view is breathtaking. It feels as if we're looking down at a thousand stars, each glowing and shining and sizzling life and magic. Which seems pretty stupid, but right then, right there, it wasn't.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Her voice startles me out of my thoughts. She doesn't ask me what I'm doing on the roof in the a.m.

"It is," I agree. "Once you get over the fact that millions were slaughtered here." Once again, I'm surprised at the edge of bitterness which has crept into my voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."

She looks at me curiously. "I'm sorry about your sister," she says softly. My throat closes up and I have to look away as to blink, hard.

"It's fine." _No, it's not._

The silence between us isn't an uncomfortable one. I get the feeling she has more to say, so I wait.

"Dad's death wasn't your fault," she says finally. I freeze. "He was always different. It's hard to explain, but I think you know what I mean. He never really fit in with the crowd." I can almost see Cinna in my mind right now, the gold eyeliner and the warm coffee brown eyes. Yes, I know what she means. He was never making meaningless comments about the weather or wearing ridiculous wigs and such. Even the way he spoke, his accent was unlike any which I'd heard in the Capitol. Maybe that's why I trusted him in the first place.

"After he died, Mom sent me to my aunt's. Said something about how it wasn't safe for me to stay in our old house anymore. That was the last time I saw her."

Her tone is flat, resigned. No trace of self-pity or even the slightest tremble.

I take a deep breath. "She could still be alive." My words ring hollow.

"That's what I thought, too. Mom was smart. She taught me to hunt four leaf clovers and wish on fallen eyelashes."

"So I went back one day. I snuck out of my aunt's and ran all the way to our old house. I didn't even recognize it at first. The front door was unlocked. There was glass and china everywhere. All the cushions were on the floor, stuffing pulled out. It was as if the house had been turned upside down."

She doesn't need to say anything more. We both know the rest, and my heart twists painfully. Here I've been, moping around and doing nothing but bask in my own pool of sorrow. Shame courses through me.

I want to say I'm sorry, too, but I know the words won't make any difference. Instead, my fingers find hers through the dark. I hope my squeeze conveys everything I want to say.

She looks down at our intertwined fingers. "Even if I make it out," she whispers. "I don't have anyone to return to. I just want all of it to be over." Her voice catches a little at the end.

Suddenly, I'm a twelve year old again, clutching my mother's arm and begging her to stay with Prim and I. Peeta's words echo in my mind. _"No one really needs me."_

"That's not true," I hear myself saying. "You have us. Maybe you can even stay with Peeta and I once the Games are over. Or, oh, we're staying at Finnick's for a while. You'll like it. Annie's probably the sweetest person you'll ever meet. You can trust Finnick. He's a good friend, honestly. And Johanna, she's really alright when she's not trying to kill you." I'm talking much faster than usual.

She smiles a little. "You know, I've sort of had a crush on Finnick since I was ten or something. When I first saw him on TV, in this golden tunic."

I can't help but snort. As far as I know, tunics are essentially towels wrapped up to resemble a dress. Finnick in a golden dress. I store the image in my head for future teasing with a smile.

"You can get his autograph or something," I assure her. "You can even get a hug." Her eyes widen a little, and her mouth drops open slightly. Despite everything, I laugh. It feels almost normal, laughing about Finnick and his outfit on the roof at night.

"What about the ocean?" she asks softly. "What's it like?" I flash back to the day at the beach, the huge water fight, and most of all, the feeling of sunshine on our faces as we splashed around like idiots.

"It's enormous," I answer. "It just seems to go on and on. The waves are cold at first, but once you get used to it, it's like gliding, almost. If the weather's nice, the sunlight will bounce off the waves. There are thousands, no, millions, of fish underwater. In all kinds of colors. They might swim with you sometimes."

She nods. "I can picture it."

"At sunset," I continue. "The ocean sort of bleeds into the sky. You can't tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins. There's red, orange, pink, purple, and blue. Not like the colors here, though. Softer. Muted."

Her eyes glitter like stars.

"I'd like to see the ocean someday," she says wistfully.

I make a silent promise to myself.

* * *

My late night talk with Juliet may have been worthwhile, but lack of sleep is taking full revenge on my spirits. Even after a large mug of black coffee, I can barely keep up with the conversation at breakfast for more than a few minutes.

My prep team is horrified when they see me. Octavia, Venia, and Flavius are back with new haircuts and unshakable determination. They exclaim over the telltale shadows under my eyes. Fuss about my hair, nails, and body as usual. Then they whisk me into a bathtub filled with bubbles and petals, order me to relax and rest for a few hours while they prepare my makeup and heaven knows what else.

I tune their chattering out until it's nothing more than a mere buzz in the background. Tonight, the interviews take place. Caesar Flickerman will ask questions and joke while the crowd watches. Hungry eyes fixed on the screens in every single district, watching, waiting to see what happens.

We will be in the front row along with the stylists. Us victors, around thirty of us total who bothered to show up.

I'm sure Haymitch is passed out somewhere with a bottle in one hand, knife in the other. Peeta's getting his makeover, too. And Effie, she must be bustling around in monstrous heels, checking things off her list to make sure everything will happen as planned. Tonight, there is no room for fault or error.

The tributes are probably in the process of being plucked and shaved, or maybe painted and pulled. I hope for Juliet's sake that her stylist will have designed a decent outfit. We weren't allowed to coach the tributes for the interviews this year. For fairness, Plutarch said. Since the victors didn't divide evenly among the tributes.

I vaguely register Octavia helping me out of the tub some time later. She wraps a big, fluffy towel around my shoulders and escorts me towards another room where I'm steamed and dried. By the time she's done, my skin is smooth and glowing.

"Your dress is gorgeous," she whispers, as if she were telling me a secret. "They won't be able to take their eyes off you." I do my best to smile, but honestly, I couldn't care less at the moment.

Flavius raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow when we walk in, me naked save a white bathrobe. I remind myself nudity is not a big deal here in the Capitol. "Oh, we'll do better than that," he declares. "You'll be ravishing, Katniss. Peeta won't be able to keep his _hands_ off you."

They laugh like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard. Even Venia can't resist a smirk.

"Please," I say, rolling my eyes.

If anything, this just makes them laugh harder.

* * *

The ravishing dress which will "make Peeta unable to keep his hands off me" turns out to be a black satin one. It flows to my ankles, exposes most of my back, and splits at my right hip. Whenever I walk, my freshly shaved leg shows. The more skin they see, the better. Apparently I'm going for "sexy but classy" tonight.

My hair is piled up in an elegant twist, with a diamond studded pin holding it in place. The lipstick they chose is dark red. I have to admit my prep team did a good job. The circles under my eyes have disappeared under powder and metallic blue eyeshadow.

"Thanks," I say. "You've made me look much better than I really am." I try for a smile in the mirror. This sets off another round of gushing and awkward hugging.

Haymitch, of all people, shows up at the door a few minutes later to save me. He has to clear his throat loudly before he's noticed.

"It's about time," he says, surprisingly sober. "Effie wants us at least fifteen minutes early." I nod quickly, eager to escape further embarrassing innuendoes or pointless chitchat. I'm restless.

Venia slips a necklace on me before I go. Of course it's a silver chain with my mockingjay hanging as the pendant. "You look beautiful," she says firmly, patting my arm. "Off you go, Katniss."

I manage a smile before Haymitch whisks me out of the room. His strides are brisk, and I notice he keeps glancing to the left, then right, before abruptly turning back.

"What are you doing?" I ask, irritated at how I'm actually struggling to keep pace with him. "I don't suppose you've suddenly decided to take Effie's wishes to heart?"

My annoyance grows when he doesn't respond, and I finally snap. "It's not about getting there early, is it? What is it? Tell me now or I'm not going with you at all." I stop, cross my arms, and glare at him.

He whirls on me with a look of exasperation. "Move," he says tightly. "And keep your voice down. You don't want to be late. Finnick and the others are already there."

His eyes tell me this is the end of our conversation. _Finnick and the others are already there._ I get a distinct feeling that there's more to his last sentence than he's voicing aloud. He could have said, _Peeta and the others are already there._ Why Finnick? I rack my mind as I hurry after him silently.

It hits me as we get in the elevator. An uncomfortable sensation settles at the pit of my stomach. The funeral, the note, it all comes flooding back. I shudder involuntarily. Haymitch looks at me but says nothing.

True to his word, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna, and Annie are already in their seats by the time I reach them. So are a few other victors I don't know the name of. I sit down in the empty space between Peeta and Johanna.

"Hey," says Peeta with a smile. "You look stunning." His smile is warm enough to make me momentarily forget about Haymitch's odd behavior. "You look pretty good yourself," I answer. He does look dashing in his classic black and white suit, his blue eyes sparkling in the spotlights overhead.

Before he can say anything back, Johanna cuts in, leaning across me. "Peeta," she drawls, flicking me a glance before continuing. "Haymitch wants to talk to you, apparently." She winks.

Peeta stares at her for a moment before getting up. "Okay," he says slowly, shooting me a look. I shrug in response. Haymitch is standing a few feet away, talking to a few people I don't recognize.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Finnick and Johanna both turn to me expectantly. Annie is with Haymitch's little group as well.

"Listen," Johanna hisses. "There are rumors. You know the note Finnick told you about?" I barely have time to nod before she barrels on. "Well, certain sources tell us that there's some kind of undercover group in the Capitol. You could think of them as rebels, like us. Obviously, they're not happy that they had to rebuild their precious little city because they lost."

She's talking faster and faster now. "They're also not happy with Paylor's reign." She glances around furtively. This behavior is starting to grate on my nerves. First Haymitch, and now Johanna?

"Wait," I interrupt. "There was a vote," I look at her hard. "It was fair, Paylor got more than half of the votes." Johanna throws up her hands in frustration. "You're missing the point here, Everdeen," she spits. "I give up. Finnick, ugh, you tell her."

Finnick sighs. "Democracy is just a form of politics," he says. "No matter the outcome, there's always going to be a portion of people who aren't satisfied with the result. And when they decide to put their thoughts into action, that's when a revolution begins."

A sinking feeling enters my chest. "That's crazy," I counter. "According to that kind of logic, it's never going to end, is it?"

Right after I utter the words, Plutarch's voice flashes through my mind.

 _"Are you preparing for another war, Plutarch?" I ask._

 _"Oh, not now. Now we're in that sweet period where everyone agrees that our recent horrors should never be repeated," he says. "But collective thinking is usually short-lived. We're fickle, stupid beings with poor memories and a great gift for self-destruction. Although who knows? Maybe this will be it, Katniss."_

Finnick confirms my thoughts. "Anyways," he says. "Word has it that these people are set on having another war. They want to expand the Capitol."

Expand the Capitol? "What do you mean?" I start to ask, before stopping. "You're not saying-"

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Katniss. They want to take over the districts. We would all be part of the Capitol. No more divisions. Panem would be ruled solely by the Capitol."

I stare at him, hoping for any hint that it's a joke. His sea green eyes reflect my own.

"The worst part is," Johanna says. "Apparently it's not just Capitol people. There's been dissent in the districts, too."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys, I'm sorry for the delay and the short chapter. I know it's a little rushed, but I promise the next one will be posted much sooner :) Love y'all!**

* * *

By the time Peeta and Annie are back, with mildly confused expressions and asking why Haymitch would be interested in their hair, we're settled in our seats and looking appropriately bored.

"Honestly, Katniss, what's going on?" Peeta shoots me a suspicious look. "He asked me the brand of shampoo I use. He wanted to know how I kept my hair "thick and glossy. Said something about how he's gradually balding."

I snort inwardly. If I'd been drinking something, it would have spewed right out of my mouth. Really, Haymitch?

Fortunately, Caesar saves me from making up an answer by announcing the start of the interviews. I've never been happier to see him.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, welcome!" His voice booms through the auditorium. I can actually feel the vibration rippling the air.

He's dressed in a neon orange suit, hair combed back in violet spikes. After all, this is Caesar Flickerman we're talking about. His pearly white teeth flash brilliantly with each smile.

"Tonight is a very special night indeed, my friends. And let me tell you why." He drops his voice slightly as to convey mystery.

"Tonight, we welcome our tributes who will be participating in the Seventy-Sixth Annual Hunger Games! "

Applause breaks out like wildfire in the audience.

Once the crowd has settled again, Caesar takes his place in one of the two red armchairs at the center of the stage.

"Without further ado, we welcome Dimitri Eloyde!" More polite applause as Dimitri walks onstage. He's wearing a midnight blue shirt and a pair of black, tight fitting pants. Most of his tattoos have been covered up, save one on his neck. I can't make out what it is.

I quickly review everything I know about him in my head. At eighteen, as one of the oldest tributes, he's got the age advantage. Not to mention his excellent physique, a build which was born for combat. He's got the fire, too. Which sums him up as one of the most lethal competitors this year.

"Dimitri," Caesar is saying. "I must admit, ever since the incident during training, everyone has been dying to get to know you! Would you like to elaborate on either matter?"

The cameras fix on his face, expressionless and blank.

"No," he says shortly. There's an awkward pause. Despite everything, I feel something close to grudging admiration for him. It takes nerve to present yourself as downright unfriendly in front of an audience. Especially when the audience in question could very well be the key to your survival in the upcoming days.

Caesar laughs wryly. "A man of few words!" He announces, "Or should I say, boy of few words?" Some titters and rustling from the crowd. They don't know what to make of him yet.

"I would like him if it wasn't for your girl," Johanna whispers to me. "I'm sure you'd get along fantastically, with the similarly charming personalities," I agree. She gives me the evil eye.

"Well, perhaps we could move on to another subject, then," Caesar suggests. "How do you feel about entering the Games? I'm sure we'd all like to hear your opinion on that one."

The response is swift. "I feel like any person does the day before they get thrown into an arena where people kill each other." It could have been a snarky, almost humorous response, if not for the flat tone and the stony eyes.

He's clearly not going for the amiable, charismatic style.

Seeing as time is apparently running out, and he isn't having much luck so far, Caesar changes tactics.

"Alright, Dimitri," he says neutrally. "Before we wrap our three minutes up, we've got one last question for you." He waits for a moment before continuing. "We have no doubt you're one to look out for. The question is, is there anyone in particular you're thinking of tonight? Someone special, close to your heart? And if there is, what would you like to say to this person?"

The cameras zoom in close up on his face again while the audience waits for his answer.

For the first time during this interview, I glimpse a flicker of emotion in his steely blue-grey eyes. I can't make out what it is, since it's gone in a flash, but I'm sure it was there. Pain, maybe? Or sadness?

"She's always been with me. And she knows exactly what I want to tell her."

The timer goes off abruptly, signaling the end of Dimitri's interview. The people behind me are whispering, no doubt about who this she might be and what his words really meant.

Caesar and Dimitri both stand up, and Caesar holds out his hand. For a brief second, I think he's not going to take the outstretched hand, but he does after a beat. They shake hands awkwardly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Dimitri Eloyde!" He gives a stiff, tiny bow before exiting the stage.

The rest of the night flies by. I tune out most of the interviews, my mind buzzing with information and jumbled thoughts. Everything is happening too fast. Tomorrow, the Games begin. An involuntary shudder runs through me as the truth hits, hard.

I snap back to the present only when Ophelia Snow, none other than Snow's granddaughter, is called onstage.

I notice how everyone else is noticeably as fixated as I am. We're waiting to hear what she has to say. I realize I don't know much about her, apart from the obvious fact that she's Snow's family by blood.

She looks stunning in an ice blue gown, with her hair twisted in a braided Victorian queen-style up do. I can't read her expression, though.

Caesar starts off by asking some basic questions. Her answers are cool and collected. Nothing worth taking note of, really. Not a single slip to betray any hint of her personality.

I'm feeling disappointed by the time the final question comes. Caesar rubs his hands, leaning forward with an earnest expression.

"I daresay there's one question everyone here has been wondering about," he says slowly.

"As the late President's granddaughter, is there anything you'd like to say on his behalf?"

When she doesn't respond right away, he pushes on dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Do you think there was a misjudgment in his execution? Or, for that matter, what of the rebels? Was the rebellion for the right reasons?"

The surge of questions has unsettled the audience. All around me, people are stirring in their seats, restless and impatient to hear her response. The tension in the air is practically visible.

When she speaks, a hushed silence falls over the auditorium.

"I can't say anything on my grandfather's behalf." She looks straight into the cameras.

"I'd like to clarify one simple fact. He was his own person, and I am mine. I'm aware of the reason many hold me against his actions."

The audience hangs on to her every word.

These are not words spoken by a sixteen year old. They sound like they could be coming from someone much, much older.

"He had his motives, I think. I'm not saying for the right reasons or not. But in the end, he made his decision."

Even though the timer goes off at this point, no one interrupts.

She stands up at the same time Caesar does.

"I will make my own decision, too. Tonight, there's just one last thing I have to say. To the families and friends of everyone who was lost in the war: I'm sorry. I truly am."


End file.
